


keep the world at bay

by aliveanddrunkonsunlight



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst Lite, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Journalist, Pining, War correspondents AU, brienne as a reporter, canon age gap, established relationship (later), established relationship angst, jaime as a photographer, more like snarky work colleagues to lovers, no beta we die like men, non-linear timeline, photographer, prompt continuation, war reporters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:02:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 15,899
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27578903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliveanddrunkonsunlight/pseuds/aliveanddrunkonsunlight
Summary: “I want this to be a permanent thing.” His voice is still rough and thick from sleep.They've had this conversation before. It took a long time to admit—to herself, much less to him—that she was in love with him.
Relationships: Jaime Lannister/Brienne of Tarth
Comments: 341
Kudos: 271





	1. Brienne I

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote a war correspondents idea for a tumblr prompt fill for wildlingoftarth. This is a continuation of that verse. The story will be told non-linearly. 
> 
> I was a journalism major in college and one of my interests is war correspondents. I’ve read books and articles by and about them, including this amazing one about female war correspondents. I really admire war and conflict correspondents, so I hope I don’t make light of the harrowing situations they put themselves through in order to do their jobs well. 
> 
> There is also mention of military personnel and that is another group I do not wish to make light of, as they often do not have the assistance they deserve from their country, particularly when it comes to mental health.

_Braavos - Year Seven_

She wakes with a shiver. Strands of sunlight filter through the gauzy blue curtains on the windows. There are goosebumps on her arms, even though outside the day is already heating up. She scoots closer to Jaime, who wraps an arm around her, his fingers tracing along her spine absent-mindedly. 

He brushes his cheek against hers, letting his beard softly scratch her chin. His eyes remain closed, but she sees the smirk on his face and laughs. Jaime knows how much she likes his beard and uses it to his advantage. “You jerk,” she mumbles, leaning in for a kiss. Hand palming the small of her back, he holds her there, as she wakes him with a series of light kisses. Golden lashes blink against green, and her gaze connects with his. She starts to smile, but notices the seriousness in his eyes. 

The giddy happiness she felt moments earlier is washed away by the pit of worry growing in her stomach. “What?” 

“I want this to be a permanent thing.” His voice is still rough and thick from sleep.

They've had this conversation before. It took a long time to admit—to herself, much less to him—that she was in love with him. 

Brienne pushes herself up on one arm, his eyes following her. She studies him for a long moment, her hand gently smoothing through the light patch of hair on his chest, which is starting to match the shade of gray on his head. Normally, she’d simply pull on clothes and not get caught in this discussion, but today, she leans in, pressing a kiss to his lips. “Can we at least talk about it after coffee?” She swings her legs over the edge of the mattress, leaning down to pick up items of clothing off the floor from the night before. Brienne pulls on a pair of leggings, his t-shirt.

Things haven’t been the same for him since the accident, she would be a fool to think otherwise. Jaime has only gone out on a handful of assignments over the last couple years. His hand might slow him down, but he wouldn’t allow it to stop him if he felt strongly about continuing his work. 

His partner in the field, Dacey, unofficially retired and adopted a kid. Catelyn Tully, his editor, left the paper for a job on a podcast. The rapid shifts in the industry might be reason for his apathy, too, but Jaime has never been one to allow administrative or bureaucratic bullshit to prevent him from doing his job.

He’s been a photographer in conflict and war zones for the better part of fifteen years, but now he can see other paths for himself. Brienne feels like she’s just hitting her stride. She’s very reluctant to give that up, as happy as she has been these last two years, splitting her time between conflict zones and his apartment in Braavos. 

Jaime pads into the kitchen after her, blinking against the sun dappled kitchen, before wrapping his arms around her middle and dropping a kiss to her shoulder. 

Even though it’s almost too hot, they sit outside on the balcony in the shade of the table umbrella with their coffee and listen to the sounds of the city waking up around them. “What does it mean to you?” she finally asks. “A permanent thing?”

“There are other jobs. Other reporting jobs where we’d have to travel less, and…” Jaime doesn’t say it, but it’s there. _And be less likely to be killed._ When he sees this has not moved her, he tries another tactic. “Wouldn’t it be nice to come home and see each other everyday?” He reaches for her hand, his thumb stroking hers softly. 

“How do you know you'd want to see me everyday?” She glances up at him, frowning. Maybe this only worked because the time they spend together is infrequent, making it all the more precious. 

“Because I know. I miss you when you’re not here.” His fingers squeeze her wrist, his voice gentle when he speaks up again, “I know it's asking a lot.”

“It _is_ asking a lot,” she says quietly but firmly. “I haven’t been doing this for as long as you. I’m not ready to give it up. I don’t think…” Brienne wonders if this discussion they keep having would play out differently if they were closer in age. Jaime is older, ready to move on with his life, and it frustrates her that he doesn’t seem to understand that she wants to experience the same full career he has before she walks away from it, too. 

“I’m not asking you to give it up,” Jaime breathes. “But maybe look at it in a different way. There are other opportunities out there. Radio or podcasts, TV. You’d be an expert.” 

Brienne can’t imagine being tucked away safe in a studio when others are out there facing the real atrocities. “I can’t be on television,” she replies with a wry grin, gesturing to where a long scar mars her right cheek. 

He scoffs. “Pity for them they don’t see what I see, then.” 

She lifts her gaze, noticing the warm way Jaime is looking at her and softens a little despite herself. “I love you,” she breathes. 

The smile which stretches across his face reaches the corners of his eyes. But when he speaks again, Brienne is startled to hear the emotion in his voice. “When you’re away...I can’t imagine you not being a part of my life.” He raises his right hand, marked with shrapnel scars, to wipe at his eyes. 

“Jaime,” she murmurs, slipping into his lap, his face pressing into her chest, her arms tight around him. She didn’t realize how deeply this was affecting him. Brienne runs her fingers through his hair, hoping it will soothe him, and finally he takes a shaky breath, then another, slowly coming back to himself. “What if I take a break and we go somewhere together?” 

It’s not a solution, but an olive branch. 

He looks up at her, his eyes still wet, a sly grin pulling at his face. “You know, I’ve never been to Tarth.” 

*

_The Disputed Lands - Year One_

She’s handed a flak jacket with “PRESS” emblazoned on the front and back in white lettering. “Put it on,” the soldier tells her. “I need to see if it fits you.” Brienne tries not to take that as an insult about her size, but the item will do her no good if it doesn’t fit, so she sets her belongings down and rips open the velcro. 

It fits snugly around her upper back and shoulders. “Does this work?” Her voice vibrates with nerves, but the soldier doesn’t seem to notice, looking up from where she is making Brienne’s ID badge. 

“Looks perfect. Are you here with that photographer?” The young woman asks, narrowing her dark eyes up at her. 

“There’s another journalist embedded here?” She replies, surprised, but it’s a large base. Maybe it will be nice to have someone show her the ropes. 

Brienne quickly finds out she’s arrived on a rather auspicious day. Shortly after being introduced to the unit she’ll be embedded with, the commander informs her there’s a viewing party of a big Westerosi soccer match that afternoon.

She walks towards the dining facility with the soldiers, tucked under a baseball cap to protect her pale skin from the desert sun. 

The dining hall is enormous, but with the number of people packed inside, it’s almost claustrophobic. There are three jumbo screens set up around the room. At one end are air hockey and pool tables, a cluster of soldiers gathered around them. Every so often jocular yelling erupts from that side of the room, others turning to look and laugh. The game hasn’t even started yet, but the atmosphere is akin to a frat party. Soldiers tell ridiculous stories and share dirty jokes and ply her with alcohol. 

A woman who is nearly as tall as Brienne pushes through the crowd, her dark hair piled into a bun atop her head. “Hi,” she has to raise her voice to be heard over everyone else. “I wanted to introduce myself. I’m Dacey Mormont. I’m with _The Chronicle_.”

Dacey has a kind smile which makes Brienne feel at ease. “Oh, are you the photographer?” She slips her hand into the other woman’s, giving it a warm shake. “I didn’t know there was another journalist here until I arrived this morning. I’m Brienne Tarth, with _The Observer_.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Brienne.” She smiles, her dark brown eyes sparkling. “Actually, I’m the wordsmith. My partner is around here somewhere, taking pictures.” Dacey glances around the room, searching for someone. “He never rests,” she adds conspiratorially. “Oh, there he is.” 

A man is making his way through the crowd, a camera strap around his neck, but hands wrapped around the camera frame, protecting it from the raucous soldiers. As he draws closer, Brienne’s stomach sinks with recognition. Jaime Lannister. She knows his work. Several of his photos are framed and hanging on her apartment wall as inspiration, a reminder of what she was working towards.

He has a reputation for being difficult. At the start of his career, he jumped from one opportunity to another, burning bridges along the way. Due to his good looks, however, his attitude has been overlooked by the Westerosi media industry and he’s been branded the heartthrob of the journalism world, a popular guest on news programs and morning talk shows. 

“This is Brienne,” Dacey says when he joins them. “Brienne, this is my partner, Jaime Lannister.” The way Dacey says partner that time makes her wonder if there’s something more going on between them. Jaime doesn’t reach forward to shake her hand, keeping his firmly cradled around his camera. In fact, he barely acknowledges her at all, other than a quick survey with his eyes. 

Brienne swallows her annoyance and makes an attempt at civility. “It’s nice to meet you.” 

“Do you want a drink?” Dacey asks him, her hand lingering on his shoulder. 

“No, I’m working.” He replies in gruff annoyance, raising his camera and turning away from them, framing a shot of the room.

Behind Jaime’s back, Dacey rolls her eyes and turns to Brienne. “Do you want a soda or anything?” She leans in, whispering. “It gets the soldiers off your back. Tell ‘em it’s mixed with whiskey.” Her eyes sparkle with amusement when Brienne accepts. “Okay, I’ll be right back.” 

Shortly after Dacey appears into the crowd, Jaime lowers his camera and turns towards her. Whoever coined him a heartthrob wasn’t wrong. His blond hair is tinged with gray at the temples, but it’s thick and shiny, like he stepped out of a shampoo commercial. Stubble outlines a jawline so strong it’s nearly obscene. His intense green eyes flick up and down her body. “I guess they’ll let anyone out here now.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh and reaches up to rub a hand across his jaw. “How old are you, Ace?”

“My name is Brienne,” she bristles, raising her voice defensively, “And I’m 27.” She’s spent the past five years working her ass off to get here and will not let some degrading jerk erase all of her hard work within two minutes of meeting him. 

“Gods, you’re green.” A grin slices across his face, almost menacing, making her burn with fury. 

Dacey’s appearance eases the tension and Brienne is able to bury her irritation, focusing her attention on the older woman, the two of them quickly building camaraderie. Jaime scarcely says a word the rest of the evening, but when the match is over and people are filing out of the hall, his gaze lands on her. 

He tosses her a wink. “See you around, kid.” 

Brienne wishes she hadn’t finished her drink so she could throw it in his face.

*

_The Orange Shore Hotel - Year Two_

Exhausted and sun burnt from spending all day in Volantis, covering the demonstrations against the new plan for The Disputed Lands, she returns to her hotel and almost smacks into him in the lobby. 

His hand is warm and firm on her arm. “Brienne,” he says, surprised. She smiles tiredly as she takes him in, noticing how scruffy he is, his hair and beard longer than the last time she saw him. “You want to grab a drink later? Meet me at the bar?” 

She nods. “Just give me a few minutes to shower.” 

“Sure thing.” The corners of his eyes crinkle up as he smiles and there’s a little tug in her stomach, unable to keep the memories of the last time they were together at bay. 

Once in the room, she lays out her nicest outfit, a thin sweater and dark jeans, and spends too much time in the hot stream of the shower, washing the day off. There's grit even under her fingernails. 

She hardly ever thinks of that first night. What happened with Jaime was different. It's something she can't quite explain, because she's never felt the same pull with anyone else. It might have been simply a need for comfort, an emotional reaction on her part. 

There was the constant weight of worry. When she arrived on base, it was for her own safety. After the incident, she felt added weight to watch out for her embed team, whom she had very little control over. And then there was Jaime, who she spent hours with in the dining facility, talking when neither of them could sleep. She'd see him across the crowded mess hall in the mornings, getting ready to head out with Dacey and would feel the heaviness settle into her neck and shoulders, creeping all the way down to her spine. 

Seeing him again in the hotel, it isn't the worry she remembers, but all the other things. The way his beard burned across her cheeks when he kissed her, their legs tangling together, the weight of his arm across her waist.

When she gets downstairs, she's slightly disappointed to see he has company at the bar. Two other reporters have joined in on the post-work drinks. Brienne doesn't mind, but is disappointed when she doesn't get a chance to talk to him without someone interrupting. She's careful not to watch him too closely amongst colleagues, not wanting to give anything away, but her mouth goes dry when he unbuttons the sleeve of his shirt and carefully folds the fabric back, doing the same on the other side. Her eyes trace down the long vein in his forearm, the way his fingers grip his glass, before tearing her gaze away. Brienne thinks she can feel his eyes on her at various points throughout the evening, but whenever she glances over at him, he's enraptured by the conversation, listening intently. He’s always good at listening. 

While she's milking her last drink of the night, the other reporters excuse themselves, and she's finally alone with him. There is a rush of heat when his green eyes connect with hers. Her natural reaction is to look away, but she takes a deep breath, and steadies herself. 

“So,” her finger traces the edge of her glass. “Are you gonna come upstairs?”


	2. Jaime I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next time he shuffles into the dining facility at 2 a.m., Brienne is there, too. He pulls a chair out across from her, stretching out his long legs under the table. Her blonde eyebrows furrow into a frown, but she continues typing. 
> 
> “I read your story.” His voice is low and gruff from sleeping too little.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for mention of bombs, explosives. No explicit violence or injury.
> 
> EOD techs are Explosive Ordnance Device technicians. They disable and dispose of explosive weaponry.

_I promise I'm worthy  
To hold in your arms  
So come on and give me the chance  
To prove I am the one who can walk that mile_

-Adele, "One and Only"

_The Disputed Lands - Year One_

He sees her around the base: hopping out of an armored vehicle returning from patrol, emerging from the medical tent, ahead of him in line for coffee in the dining facility. She scowls when she passes by him, coffee in hand. Jaime pretends to doff his cap to her. “Morning to you, too.” 

Dacey has been haranguing their editor about getting an embed with the bomb squad for months. Already a high stress job, he’s horrified to learn the techs take shifts which are 48 hours on, 48 off. 

His body is heavy, eyes blurry with exhaustion, but his mind whirs onwards, unable to rest. After an hour of pretending to sleep, Jaime sits up in frustration, pulling out his camera and clicking through the images he’s taken over the past two days. There’s a sequence he’d forgotten, the EOD techs working to uncover a potential explosive device right alongside an abandoned school. If he gets these to Cat, they would make a great photo essay. 

Camera bag thrown over his shoulder, he steps out into the cool night air, rocks crunching under his feet as he walks. Blinking against the bright lights of the dining facility, it takes him a moment to realize she is there, too, tapping out a story on her laptop. She doesn’t notice or acknowledge him, so Jaime sets up his work space, quickly absorbed in the images. When the laptop clock informs him it’s after 3 a.m., he blinks blurrily. Running a hand across his jaw, he leans away from the screen, and stretches his arms out overhead, his hoodie riding up a little. 

Jaime glances over at her, face still buried in her laptop screen, lips moving slightly, reading to herself. 

_She’s so godsdamned young._ Young, capable, empathetic. Similar to Elia in everything but appearance. 

They’d both been young, then. 

Sometimes he forgets what her voice sounded like. 

When he finally gets some sleep, he hears her laugh, the way she said his name. 

Then the explosion. 

*

The next time he shuffles into the dining facility at 2 a.m., Brienne is there, too. He pulls a chair out across from her, stretching out his long legs under the table. Her blonde eyebrows furrow into a frown, but she continues typing. 

“I read your story.” His voice is low and gruff from sleeping too little. “It was good. Impactful.” 

She sighs, but looks up, meeting his gaze. Her eyes are enchanting, he doesn’t know how he missed them the first time. But they fill with skepticism as she studies him. “I thought you said I was green.”

 _Blue._ The color of the sky a moment before it shifts towards dawn. 

He cocks an eyebrow at her. “I’m not allowed to change my mind?” 

Brienne’s features remain stonily indignant, but there’s a slight flush to her cheeks. Jaime has to bite his lip to keep from smiling.

*

A detente is reached, and slowly, a tentative friendship. On those insomnia nights, the two of them quietly work across from each other. He learns what she likes in her tea and coffee, and eventually she starts to return his teasing, both of them dissolving into laughter, blurry from too little sleep or buzzing from too much caffeine. 

One morning, Dacey finds them both hunched over the air hockey table, as they bat the puck back and forth and mercilessly taunt one another. When Brienne wins--only because Dacey distracted him and he didn’t block the last shot--he reluctantly congratulates her, their hands slapping together in a high five, but as their arms lower, his fingers curl around hers, the warmth of her skin lingering. Those blue eyes widen, calm on the surface but their hidden depths threaten to pull him under.

She leaves quickly, making a silly excuse about showering before going out on patrol with her unit. When he tears his gaze away from her retreating form, Dacey fixes him with a warning look. “It’s just a friendly competition,” he says casually, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

*

They get back to base after a long day with the EOD techs. Ten calls. Four hours at one site. 

His body needs rest, but Jaime wants to send the photos before passing out for the next twelve hours. 

It’s not late, so he’s surprised to find the dining facility quiet. There’s no one crowded around the air hockey table, no one in line for coffee, no one holed up watching sports. 

The photos can wait. He grabs coffee and a candy bar for Dacey and walks quickly back to their quarters. She’s outside, talking to three soldiers. Without knowing anything yet, fear grips his throat, and he can barely get the words out. “What happened?” 

“The Fifteenth division. Roadside bomb.” One of the soldiers says it so easily, but his shoulders slump as he lets the words go.

It takes a moment for everything to connect. 

_The Fifteenth. Fuck._

“Are you okay?” Dacey asks. He notices too late he’s dropped the cup of coffee and the liquid is pooled around his feet, fast soaking into the ground. One of the soldiers steps forward, as if he might need to catch him, and Jaime does feel like he’s falling. 

_Brienne._

He must say her name aloud because Dacey’s brow tightens. “Shit. I’ll check the med tent,” she instructs him, but before she turns to go, he sees the fear in her eyes.

 _Shit shit shit._ There’s a cool desert wind on his face as he jogs, but his feet can’t seem to move fast enough.

He's not sure which trailer is the Fifteenth’s, but most of them are marked with the battalions' logos. His steps quicken as he runs down the long line of them, finally spotting it, and flings the door open. The room is empty. As he turns to go, he hears a sniffle. “Brienne?” 

Now he sees the top of a head by one of the mattresses. He finds her sitting on the floor, back against the bed frame, and knees curled up to her chest. Her face is streaked with dirt and tears and possibly blood. “Jaime?” she chokes out when she sees him. 

She launches herself into his arms, almost knocking him backwards, but he catches her, and allows the worry he's been carrying to evaporate out through how tightly his arms are around her shoulders, the whispered words of comfort into her ear, and the way his fingers tangle in her hair. 

“I should be there,” she murmurs into his shoulder. “They're my guys, I should be there.” 

Jaime isn't sure what she means. “I'll take you in the morning, if you want. There's nothing we can do right now, okay?” She nods and he reaches over to brush a piece of hair back. Her eyes meet his, a jolt of realization at how perilously close they are, how easily they fit together, before Brienne is leaning into him, her mouth on his. 

It's not a tentative kiss, but a strong, needy one. They are desperate to drink each other in, but remember themselves at the same moment, breaking apart with fevered breath. Her hands are still firm against his chest, eyes widening in horror. “I didn’t mean to-” 

“It’s alright,” he murmurs, even though he is itching to trace every freckle with fingertip, lips, tongue. “You can blame it on the adrenaline.” 

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, her eyes glistening with tears again. Jaime pulls her into him wordlessly, arms encircling, making soothing patterns across her shoulders and down her back. 

“Do you want to tell me what happened?” 

*

_Slaver’s Bay - Year Five_

There is the faint sound of voices and he wants to yell for help, but he is choking on gravel.

It is like falling underwater, he can see the sunlight playing across the surface, struggles to swim towards it, but something is weighing him down, pulling him deeper and deeper. 

When he finally breaks free, the bright white of the hospital room blinds him. He shuts his eyes against it, body shuddering as a wave of pain travels up his right arm. It’s sharp and sudden, enough to make his stomach lurch and his eyes water. He must cry out because it’s only then does he feel her cool touch, first on his left hand, then reaching up to smooth back his hair. “I’m here,” she whispers. 

_I love you._ He does not know if the words pass his lips, because he is being dragged under again, only this time, he knows Brienne is waiting at the surface. 

“I’m here, Jaime. I’m right here.”

*

_Tarth - Year Seven_

There is a storm blowing in. Light blue skies turning a deep, dark indigo. Black clouds, the sea churning. Violent green waves slapping at the shore. 

Brienne stretches her arms out and embraces the rain, running back towards him at the first crack of thunder, eyes bright as she kisses him hungrily. 

They stumble through the doorway, Jaime closing the door behind them with his foot, as he drags sleeves of the dampened plaid shirt down her arms, a soft noise at the back of her throat as his mouth meets her neck. Her hands tug at his belt loops, pulling him closer, fingers fumbling as she undoes his belt, but he places a hand over hers. 

He wants to take his time. They are always so hurried and desperate for one another, reunions at his Braavos apartment after Brienne has spent weeks away, but now there’s no rush. He can trace her freckles, map her blush, and prolong her pleasure. 

_Jaime, please, please, I want--_

_Can you hold on for me?_

_Yes._

Afterwards, she curls up beside him, sated, resting her head on his shoulder, fingertips gently tracing the scars on his right arm. “That was…” she sighs happily. 

He chuckles. “You have time to plot your revenge.”

“We have nothing but time.” 

“Isn’t it nice?” 

She falls quiet, then after a moment, presses up on her elbow so she can kiss him. “Yes.” 

The rain stops in the late afternoon and they go for a walk along the beach as the sun sets, her right arm curled around his left, leaning into him as their feet sink into the sand. 

For a long time, he never thought he would love anyone as much as Elia. 

But he knew very little about love until he met Brienne. 

After vacation, Brienne will go back to work, walking into violent areas, spending weeks near combat zones. 

And he will let her. 


	3. Brienne II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time it happens, there's a blackout.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief mention of military and mental health.

_King’s Landing/The Orange Shore Hotel - Year One_

The first time it happens, there’s a blackout. 

*

Embeds with the military are limited to a few weeks, and when she left the base, Brienne felt both horror and relief. Horror at what these young men and women had to face, what they were enduring. Relief at returning to a sense of normalcy. Except once she was back in King’s Landing, nothing felt normal. It was an eerie parallel universe, one in which she was supposed to be unbothered by her friends and family’s lack of awareness of what was happening abroad. 

She writes a story about the losses both sides are experiencing, an op-ed about the unnatural qualities of returning to civilian life, thinking throwing herself into work might help tame her frustration, but clicking through the clueless comments on those stories only makes her angrier. 

Her computer pings as an email arrives in her inbox.

**From** : lannisterj@thechronicle.com

 **To** : tarthba@theobserver.com

 **Subject** : your stories

You’re doing good work. Hang in there. 

And if you ever need anyone to commiserate with, here’s my number. 

See you in the trenches,

JL

His simple words of encouragement stoke her tenacity. She has orders to remain stateside for another two weeks, but she already knows where she’s going next, so begins focusing her efforts on that, conducting research and making contacts where she can. 

Brienne checks up on him, too. His photos capture the humanity, the joy and sadness, within those strange liminal spaces. She goes back further into the archive, marveling over past images, beginning to interpret them based on what little she knows of him. 

Lying awake that night, she remembers the taste of his lips, the way his hands tried to soothe away her worries, her hurt. The soft heart of him so very different from the caustic man she first met. 

*

She runs into him in the courtyard outside the hotel where Volantenes sell black market booze. His eyes brighten when he sees her, a wry grin sliding across her face. “Pick your poison.” 

He’s wearing a long sleeved gray t-shirt, the fabric tight enough to show off the muscle in his shoulders and chest, and navy pants, the type that have a million pockets and zippers, which would come in handy for a photographer out in the field. 

“Anything you recommend?” 

“The whiskey’s usually safe.” He holds up a bottle, then slips it into one of the many pockets of his pants. “How are you doing?” 

It’s the same question everyone in her “real life” asked and it hadn’t taken Brienne long to realize they did not want to hear the real answer. She had not expected the same treatment from him. “I’m fine,” she replies tersely, letting out a sigh, and turning away from him. 

Jaime’s fingers wrap around her hand, two fingers pressing against her palm, the pad of his thumb ghosting across her wrist, making her shiver under the momentary touch. His tone is gentle. “Hey, I was really asking.”

When she received the email from him, it gave her hope that the kiss was something he had wanted too, but now under Jaime’s practiced, observant eye, she’s embarrassed at how far she’d let her imagination run away. Any connection she felt between them was influenced by the conditions on base--the immediacy of the conflict, working in close quarters, the adrenaline rush--it was clear he was simply concerned about her well-being. He viewed her as a colleague and nothing more. “And I’m really fine,” she says dismissively. Jaime’s brow furrows, trying to figure her out, and she feels guilty for being so snappish. Brienne acquiesces a little, but she removes her wrist from his grasp before asking, “Is Dacey here?”

He nods. “She’s taking a nap.” His green eyes are still skeptical. “Are you sure you’re alright?” 

“I wish everyone would stop asking me that,” she mumbles, tucking her chin to her chest so she won’t have to watch him analyze her.

“Come on.” In the brief moment he beckons her towards the hotel, she notices how long his fingers are, his nails are neatly trimmed, and she hates herself for it. “We’ll split this whiskey and talk.” 

Almost as soon as they step inside the hotel, there is a distant rumbling sound, and Jaime’s hand covers hers, pulling her towards the stairwell. It is dimly lit and the concrete blocks of the walls make it feel like a fallout shelter. The sound grows closer and closer as they climb the stairs and Brienne is finally able to understand it is the drone of planes. The other reporters, photographers, and translators all take it in stride, and while she is grateful Jaime knew what to do, she wishes he wasn’t there to see another moment of her inexperience. She hates appearing vulnerable.

The building vibrates in the noise’s grip. He presses close so she can hear. “What floor are you on?” 

“The fifth.” 

“We’ll go to my room then. It’s safer lower down.” Panic seizes her chest then, wondering if she should try to grab her laptop, but remembers something her editor told her before she left on embed. Equipment could be replaced, she could not. 

“What about Dacey?” 

“Been through it before. She knows what to do.” Before she can object, he is ushering her down the hallway. The vibrations are maddening and she wants to press her hands over her ears to soften it.

Inside his room, Jaime switches on the bedside lamps. He picks up a blanket left on a chair and stuffs it around the window sill. The glass still hums in its casing, but the dampened noise is a relief. She sighs, letting her shoulders relax. Slipping the bottle of whiskey out of his pocket, he raises an eyebrow at her briefly before twisting open the top and pouring them each a glass. 

He settles onto the mattress next to her, his body close enough to smell the slight musk of his skin. Brienne keeps her gaze focused on the window, even though dusk has fallen. Taking a large sip of whiskey, she enjoys the slight burn as it travels down her throat. She’s about to say something when the lights flicker and go out. 

Jaime chuckles. “Well.” 

“Does this happen a lot?”

“Occasionally. Could last twenty minutes or several hours.” 

It feels dangerous, being here with him in such close proximity, the whiskey already working its way through her body. There’s the slight thunk of his glass on the nightstand, then the sound of his body shifting on the mattress, his thigh is pressing along hers. 

Swilling down the last of the whiskey, Brienne sets her glass on the floor, heart pounding. Her body turns towards him. The window rattles. 

She kisses him, the same as that night on base, except no, everything is different now. This time, his mouth opens to hers, and he tastes like whiskey. Her fingers flutter over his shoulders and he is tugging her closer until she is practically in his lap. 

“You never called me,” he breathes along her jaw. 

“No,” she replies, her voice barely above a whisper. “I wasn’t sure if…I wasn’t sure.” Today in the courtyard, it seemed clear Jaime saw her only as someone to take under his wing. Even in the stairwell, she felt certain that’s all it was. A colleague showing her the ropes. Making out in the semi-darkness was not clarifying. 

“Are you sure now?” He murmurs as his scruff meets the delicate skin of her neck. Her fingers fisting in his shirt, wanting more, are all the answer she can give. The buzz of his laugh against her body loosens the tightness in her throat. “Brienne, are you sure?” 

She nods, pulling herself fully into his lap. Jaime makes a noise in the back of his throat, a sound which drops even lower when she rocks her hips against his pelvis. He presses into her, the hard length of him shooting a white heat up her spine, making her hum against his mouth. 

His voice rasps out, asking again, “You’re sure?” 

The building rattles as another plane flies overhead. She presses her mouth to his ear, “Yes.”

_*_

_Between The Orange Shore Hotel and Slaver’s Bay - Year Five_

The truck bouncing over a pothole wakes her. In the darkness of the vehicle, Catelyn is still alert in the front seat, gaze focused on the road ahead. Her neck is stiff and she tries to roll it out, wanting to ask Sandor where they are, but he’s barely spoken since he offered to take them, and she is grateful to be here at all, flying over dirt roads to reach Jaime. 

She feels disoriented, unsure if dusk has just fallen or if it’s the middle of the night. Her mind keeps replaying the morning she last saw Jaime, if there was anything he said, any reaction that would have told her what he was about to do. 

_But when I get back we should talk about this._

_Talk about what?_

_You and I._

The tears come, and she must look a mess in the backseat, because Sandor even gives her a sympathetic look in the rear view mirror and Catelyn offers tissues and water.

She’s in love with him. 

Probably has been for years, but was too content with their routine to step back and look at things from afar. Even when he wanted to talk about things between them, she had been clueless as to what he was trying to say.

It took him getting nearly blown to pieces in the middle of nowhere for her to realize. What fucking idiots they’ve both been. 

When they reach Slaver’s Bay safely, Brienne can scarcely thank Clegane enough. She gives him a tight hug outside the hospital. He looks embarrassed and brushes off her thanks, saying she should get inside to see her man. Her sneakers squeak on the hospital floors, a name echoing in each heartbeat. _Jaime Jaime Jaime._

*

_King’s Landing - Year Three_

She sees him across the ballroom. He is busy with his adoring public. Watching him be gracious is odd. His movements are stiff, unpracticed, whereas she has seen him move through the desert effortlessly, instinctively reach for his camera, fire off a dozen shots. At least one photograph of the dozen will earn him praise or perhaps even an accolade, like tonight. 

It was foolish of her to come. 

*

_Slaver’s Bay - Year Five_

She sits at his bedside, her hand on his, unable to be swayed or moved. The nurses try to kick her out when visiting hours are over, but they let her stay, since she is quiet and non-disruptive. Some of them even give her sympathetic looks and sneak her pudding cups. She sleeps sitting up, her head resting on the mattress beside him, the warmth of his body soothing her until her eyes close. 

The day she arrived, the whole right side of his body was covered in bandages. The lacerations on his face will heal, but his right hand and arm may not. 

It’s lucky he wasn’t more badly hurt, but she knows when Jaime wakes, he won’t see it that way. 

She dreams about seeing his eyelids flutter open, those green eyes seeing straight to the depths of her. 

_I love you_ , she whispers in his ear. _Jaime, please, wake up_.


	4. Jaime II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaime thinks of the darkest months, how Brienne never left his side. When she came home with bruises, the scar on her face, he never said a harsh word, only took her in his arms.

_ Tarth - Year Seven _

Jaime emerges from the shower, towel wrapped around his waist. Brienne smiles at him, but he’s surprised to find her dressed. From his perch on the bed, he watches her slip on a pair of earrings, small studs with crimson gemstones set in gold. “Who are you getting all dressed up for?” he asks, a teasing lilt in his voice.

“I’m meeting my dad for lunch,” she says simply, running a brush through her chin length bob.

“Oh.” 

The disappointment is apparent in his voice and she turns towards him, lifting an eyebrow. “Why would I come to Tarth without seeing my family?”

“No, it makes sense.” He runs a hand through his damp hair with a sigh. “You didn’t think about asking me to come?” 

During his injury, Brienne was in touch with his family, and once they returned to his apartment in Braavos, his brother came to visit. Yet until now, he has not set foot in the place she grew up nor met any of her family. 

She turns to look at him, her palms pressing flat against the dresser. “Do you  _ want  _ to come? I thought it would be boring for you.”

It would be easy for Jaime to take offense that she doesn’t see things between them in the same way he does and things would spiral out from there, but it’s not the first time Brienne has been frustratingly obtuse about their relationship, and in a way, he finds it endearing that she still does not realize the full breadth and depth of his love for her. “It wouldn’t be boring for me. Your family is important to you. I would love to meet them.”

She shrugs, still looking uncertain. “It’s just my dad.” 

“I know,” he says softly. 

One night she called him from somewhere near The Painted Mountains, sounding fragile. The call itself was a rare occurrence since they mostly relied on email to communicate while she was out in the field. After some wheedling from him, she finally admitted it was the anniversary of her mother and brother’s deaths.  _ It’s been 30 years, I really thought I would be fine.  _ He provided quiet support for the rest of the evening, asking gentle questions, listening as she talked about them, and when she cried, soothing her the best he could from 2000 miles away. 

“Are you  _ sure  _ you want to come to lunch?”

“Does your dad have a habit of punching your boyfriends?” Jaime asks, laughing at her incredulity. “Is that why you’re so reticent to let me tag along? Because you’re trying to protect me? You’re so sweet.” He says, his voice purposefully low and cloying. 

“Shut up,” she retorts, but there’s a smile pulling at her cheeks. Brienne crosses to the bed and slides her hands into his still damp hair, her thumb brushing through his sideburn, which is now streaked with gray, and then lowers her mouth to his. He expected it to be a simple thank you kiss, but there’s such warmth and feeling it, he moans against her. She opens her mouth to his, kissing him deeper, and with Jaime still only wearing the towel, this suddenly feels like a dangerous game. As if mirroring his thoughts, she reaches under the fabric, taking him in her hand. 

He sucks in a breath over his teeth and clutches at the fabric of her shirt. Her eyes are trained on him, bright and hungry, and the sunlight streaming through the room behind her makes Jaime’s hands itch for his camera. He sees it everyday, the beauty of her, but she always skirts away from his lens, so he has contented himself with these moments, set in his memory as firmly as if it were made with ink and paper.

His eyelids flutter closed at her touch and he can feel as she pulls the towel back, opening his eyes in time to see her sink to her knees. “Fuck, I love you,” he breathes, hands sliding into her hair. 

*

_ Painted Mountains - Year Two  _

Brienne still does not have a photographer, so he and Dacey invite her to the Painted Mountains with them. They stop at Vaes Khadokh first, a sightseeing trip to the old world. Jaime lies awake at the campsite, embarrassed that he can’t stop thinking of Brienne, a mere few feet away in a separate tent. 

They’ve fallen into an unspoken agreement. Whenever they are both at The Orange Shore Hotel, one of them would end up in the other’s room. But the next morning, in the lobby, they would be colleagues again, exchanging friendly nods. The professional line was thin at best, nearly translucent at this point, but it was a common occurrence between conflict journalists. Jaime had slept with other reporters or photographers before, but it had always been occasional, nothing so regular as this thing with Brienne. They couldn’t stay outside each other’s orbits for too long, and the more they slept together, the more emboldened she became. 

Yet part of him feels guilty for letting things continue on as they were. He cannot offer her more than a physical relationship. And she deserves more. 

A shadow falls across his tent and then Brienne is crawling inside. He starts to speak, but she places her hand over his mouth, shaking her head. “We have to be quiet,” she says, her voice the softest whisper in his ear. 

Her lips warm and familiar as he tries to peel off her shirt, but he chuckles against her mouth, murmuring, “How many layers are you wearing?” 

“Shut up,” she hisses, but she’s smiling. “It’s cold in the desert.” 

Jaime fumbles to unzip the sleeping bag, wrapping it around both of them. “I’ll keep you warm.” 

She laughs softly, allowing him to slip one layer off of her, then another, her skin prickling with goosebumps under his touch. Not to be outdone, one of her hands slips between them, traveling lower and lower, making Jaime suck in a breath as it lands at the waistband of his boxers. In the dim light filtering through the tent, her eyes find his. She presses her hand to the front of his boxers and he has to stifle his groan against her neck. 

*

_ Tarth - Year Seven _

When they show up at the seaside cafe, the surprise on Selwyn’s face makes it clear to Jaime that he feels ambushed by the sudden appearance of a man with his daughter. 

“Hi, Dad.” Brienne says softly, enveloping the older man in a hug. He is tall, like Brienne, her broad shoulders and strong chin clearly inherited from him. His eyes are a stormy gray, though. 

She must have her mother’s eyes. 

“This is Jaime,” she tells her father, turning towards him with a smile. 

“I wondered why you weren’t staying at the house.” Her father replies, voice a bit distant. “Well, it’s nice to meet you.” Selwyn’s handshake is firm, but brief. 

He asks about Brienne’s work, then turns to Jaime. “How long have you been a photographer?” 

It’s a simple enough question, but the man asks it in such a way that Jaime wonders if he’s being caught out somehow. Perhaps Selwyn had pictured someone very different for his daughter. Someone younger, not going fully gray. Someone able, not a washed up conflict photographer who could barely move his right hand without pain. 

“I’m not a photographer anymore.” 

Selwyn’s brow furrows. “Oh?” 

“Yes, you are,” Brienne insists, slipping her right hand into his underneath the table. “Jaime is very talented. He’s won-” 

“Brienne,” he interrupts her. “Your dad doesn’t want to hear all that.” 

“All of that isn’t in the past.” Her voice is quiet, even as her blue eyes burn with conviction.

Jaime hates that they’re practically arguing in front of her father. “I’ve made my peace with it,” he says softly, squeezing her hand. 

Selwyn wisely changes the subject. “Have you been enjoying Tarth?” 

“Very much,” he nods. “It’s beautiful here. Peaceful.” 

The rest of the meal goes smoothly, Selwyn becoming increasingly amiable the more they talk. 

As the meal is winding down, Brienne requests a tea to go, and then slips away to the bathroom, leaving the two of them alone. “I can never quite keep up with her,” the man chuckles, shaking his head. 

“I apologize if I was a surprise.” 

“No apologies necessary.” Selwyn smiles. “It seems like you take care of each other and that’s all that matters, really.” 

Jaime thinks of the darkest months, how Brienne never left his side. When she came home with bruises, the scar on her face, he never said a harsh word, only took her in his arms. “You’re right,” he agrees, swallowing the lump in his throat. “It’s what matters the most.” 

*

_ King’s Landing - Year Three  _

He sees her across the ballroom, but by the time he makes his way out of the small crowd which gathered around to wish him luck, she’s gone. 

His table is near the front of the room, but all evening he finds himself scanning the other tables, looking for her. 

When his name is called, he curses under his breath, and Dacey is murmuring in his ear, “I told you.” 

He doesn’t even know what he says during his speech because the whole time on stage, he’s trying to find her in the audience, only the stage lights are too bright. Perhaps he should have eaten more, because the room swims in front of him until he pauses to take a breath. 

After the ceremony is over, Dacey and Catelyn want to go out for a celebratory drink. He humors them, even though all he wants to do is go back to his hotel room. 

He starts to text her half a dozen times, but he doesn’t know what to say to fix things between them.  _ I miss you. I was wrong. I’m sorry. _


	5. Brienne III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His whole career is confined to these boxes, this drawer, everything contained in such a small space when it had a much bigger impact than even he is willing to realize. She should shut the drawer, walk away, pretend she never saw any of it, but her fingers reach for the coaster from the hotel. When she picks it up, a small black jewelry box is underneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter mentions a kidnapping. There are no specific details about the event itself (as in, how it happened, what happened during), but I wanted to let everyone know up front. 
> 
> Not to turn this into a PSA, but the Committee to Protect Journalists is a great non-profit which works to protect journalists around the world.

_Norvos - Year Four_

Jaime kisses her awake before dawn. They have coffee and a traditional Norvosi breakfast before Jaime packs his camera bag and she tells him to be safe. He pulls her in for a long kiss. “If we aren’t back by nightfall…”

Her throat tightens at the thought, but she nods. “I know.” 

The Darkwater is nearly dry, leaving the Qohorik without a water source. The negotiations with the Norvos have broken down and while Brienne is staying on the Norvos side, covering the skirmishes breaking out along the shared riverbed between the two groups, Jaime and Dacey are heading into the Forest of Qohor. 

She is always grateful for her work, but today she is thankful because it keeps her mind from wandering to Jaime. In the twenty minutes she finds in her day for lunch, she spares a silent good thought for him. The afternoon hangs heavier over her, watching the paper’s photographer work alongside her. When they finally return to the hotel, she’s exhausted. It’s about an hour until sunset, so she takes a long, hot shower, dressing afterwards in clean, comfortable clothes. Brienne pulls her damp hair back into a low bun, having to squeeze her eyes shut against the memory of Jaime’s fingers gentle along her neck, his voice in her ear drawing out the heat building inside of her. 

By dusk, there is no sign of them. Hands shaking, she goes downstairs to the lobby to speak to the drivers, asking if anyone heard from them. Each driver who shakes his head, says no, dread reaches up and sucks her down further into its midst. 

When she is talking to the last driver, Jaime bursts in the front door. She wants to cry with relief until she notices how wild-eyed he is. “They ambushed us. They’ve got Dacey.” 

For the next twelve hours, her body is wrenched with worry, watching Jaime pace the hotel room, fear written across his features. His brow is furrowed, jaw clenched, even his green eyes look sunken in the midst of the dark circles surrounding them. She sleeps restlessly for a few hours near dawn, only because he tells her to in hushed tones. Brienne wishes she could convince him to do the same, but he will not be coaxed, not when she can practically see Elia swim across his vision. 

She is awoken by Jaime on the phone pleading with Catelyn for help from the paper’s editors, saying he’ll pay her damn ransom himself if they won’t. He curses and throws the phone down so hard, it nearly cracks in half. Brienne walks up behind him, wrapping her arms around his middle. His chest is still heaving in anger, but he turns in her arms, burying his nose into her neck. “I should go out there myself and get her.” Brienne holds his wrists in her hands, half to ground him, half to keep him from walking out the hotel door. 

The next day he is at it again, ranting and raving to Catelyn on the phone, and she doubts he got any sleep at all. “Jaime, you need to eat something.” But he pushes the plate away after only two bites. 

As the sun starts to set, he is edging towards delirium, his speech becoming garbled and sentences half finished. He hasn’t slept in two nights. She marches into the bathroom and turns on the tap in the bathtub. “Come on,” she says to him firmly, dragging him out of the chair. Jaime stands before her, a confused look on his face as she begins to strip the clothing from his body. She unbuckles his belt, his pants falling to the floor. Her hand steadily unzips his hoodie, tugs the sleeves back over his shoulders, the fabric landing behind him. Her fingers brush along the waistband of his boxers as she reaches for the hem of his t-shirt and lifts that up over his head. Brienne slips her hand into his and presses a quick kiss to his lips. “Come on,” she says again, leading him into the bathroom. Jaime lets go of her hand to take off his boxers, but after he sinks down into the tub with a sigh, he reaches out for her again. When she glances up, there are tears in his eyes. 

“Thank you,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper. 

*

Two days later, she stands beside him outside the hotel as they wait for the Jeep to pull up. When Dacey steps out into the sunlight, Jaime rushes forward, taking her in his arms. Brienne watches them embrace, tears streaming down her face. 

*

_Braavos - Year Seven_

She combs through his dresser, looking for the base layer shirt she left last time, which is undoubtedly mixed in with Jaime’s things. The top drawer is full of boxers, socks, and undershirts, and Brienne makes a mental note to tease him about how well his things are organized. Her fingers rifle through his carefully folded t-shirts, then slide open the heavy bottom drawer. She expects pants or athletic gear, but her breath catches her throat. 

Everything is placed carefully into plastic boxes. In one, several pairs of pants, which she recognizes as being the kind he wore out in the field, khaki colored with lots of pockets and zippers. There’s an overflowing box of photographs, ones he has taken and ones with him in them, often alongside Dacey, smiling cautiously somewhere out in the desert. 

In one corner sits an old, dusty SLR, rolls of film, press badges, and dog tags. There’s a sheaf of letters that are marked with Tyrion’s address, postcards, a coaster from The Orange Shore Hotel, and other keepsakes. His whole career is confined to these boxes, this drawer, everything contained in such a small space when it had a much bigger impact than even he is willing to realize. 

She should shut the drawer, walk away, pretend she never saw any of it, but her fingers reach for the coaster from the hotel. When she picks it up, a small black jewelry box is underneath. 

The coaster is clutched tightly in her hand and she stares at the box for a long time. Maybe it’s something he’d bought for Elia long ago. 

Brienne takes the box out and opens it. Inside is a silver ring with a sapphire in the center, a small diamond on either side. She closes the box but places it on top of the dresser. For a long time, she sits on the floor, drawing her knees up to her chest and reminding herself to breathe. 

The front door opens and Jaime is talking to her as he enters. “I got those kind of crackers you like, although they only had the cheese and garlic, not the sun dried tomato, and some bags of dates and dried apricots.” His footsteps draw closer to the bedroom. “Hey, are you okay?” His eyes dart from where she’s sitting on the floor to the open drawer to the top of the dresser, face falling when he sees the ring box. 

Even after two years of practically living together, she expects him to be mad about her going through his things, but he doesn’t say a word about it, only puts the shopping bags down in the doorway, walking over to sit beside her on the floor. He doesn’t even sound irritated when he finally speaks. “It was meant for you, if that’s what you’re wondering.” 

The giant fucking sapphire told her that. “ _Was?_ ” 

He sighs, rubbing his palm against his pant thigh. “I bought it a year ago. After the accident. After you took care of me.” 

Those months when she worried about leaving him alone in the apartment even for the short time it would take her to go to the shop across the street, worried when he screamed in the middle of the night, worried when he clung to her in their bed, crying. Brienne took leave from the paper, went to doctor’s appointments and psychiatrists’ offices and hypnotist sessions with him. The first morning he awoke with a smile had nearly broken her. That same morning he told her he was happy, that she made him happy. She moved above him, sunlight dappling Jaime’s skin, assuring her with every movement, every touch, every whispered word that he had finally come back to her. 

She nods, tears welling up in her eyes. “You changed your mind?” 

“No,” he says immediately, firmly. “No.” Jaime repeats, voice softening. His hand is on the floor next to hers, his body so close she wants to turn towards him, to try to understand, to be in his arms. He touches his pinky finger to hers until she turns over her hand, offering him her open palm. Jaime slides his hand into hers, raising their entwined hands to his mouth, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. “I love you more now than I did then.” 

She doesn’t doubt him, but she wants to know why. “There has to be a reason.” He loves her, she reminds herself, and that is enough. More than enough. 

“I wasn’t sure...I didn’t want you to think--” He sighs, frustrated that he can’t articulate it. “I didn’t want you to think I was trying to claim you. I was afraid you might see it as something I was asking because I wanted to stop you from going out in the field.” 

A breath shudders through her. “I wouldn’t have.” 

Jaime addresses her comment with a simple, knowing look. “You might have, a little.” 

“My work is important to me,” she says quietly. “But I want those things, too.” There’s sadness at the corner of his eyes. “I _do_.” 

“I know,” he whispers, pressing his nose into her hair. “You let me know when you’re ready.” Jaime squeezes her hand, before his fingers slip out of hers. He rises to his feet, picking up the bags in the doorway, and walking down the hall to the kitchen. 

*

_King’s Landing - Year Three_

Brienne shuts herself in the bathroom stall, pulse pounding. She slumps against the stall door, other women’s heels echoing against the tiles. Running water in the sinks. “Did you see Jaime Lannister? He’s even more handsome in person. I didn’t think that was possible.” The women titter while they check their makeup, touch up their lipstick. 

As their voices grow quiet, their footfalls headed towards the door, she thinks it might be safe. Maybe the ceremony will have started by now and she can slip in the back of the room without having to talk to anyone. She pulls open the stall door, takes one step, and spots Dacey standing by the sinks, fixing her makeup. In the mirror’s reflection, her eyes widen in recognition. “Brienne! I was looking for you.” She blots her lipstick on a paper towel. “You should come sit at our table.” 

“Oh, I couldn’t do that.” Brienne shakes her head, catching sight of herself, nervous and wide-eyed, in the mirror. She sets her clutch down by the sink and washes her hands. It lets her direct her gaze away from Dacey, but by the time she’s drying her hands off with a paper towel, Brienne still has no idea what to say. 

“You slept with him.” There’s no judgement in Dacey’s tone and she’s grateful for it. Brienne nods, her chin trembling. “Did he tell you about Elia?” 


	6. Jaime III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As she slips her tank top off, he fingers a dark purple bruise just under her collarbone. “Brienne…” His brow wrinkles. He knows her scars and calluses, all the things she tries to hide, but watching her uncover new wounds, fresh from the time apart from him, he wants to hold her closer than anyone else ever has.

_The Orange Shore Hotel - Year Three_

They can’t keep doing this.

He’s known it for weeks and yet he was the one who sought her out tonight. When she swung open the door to her room, a shy smile slid across her face. Five minutes later they were both half dressed, his mouth on her neck and his hand between her thighs. He needed the rush, the release. 

Now, she dozes lightly, familiarity in the warmth and weight of her next to him. An unspoken peace is brokered in choosing to sleep beside someone. A trust tendered. You are safe here. 

Her freckles are a constellation guiding his gaze gently over her cheeks, her shoulders, her chest. Her wavy hair tumbles across the pillow, lightened by the desert sun, fairly glowing in the moonlight. Her lips are parted and she sighs softly as he draws closer. 

They can’t keep doing this. 

“Brienne,” he says gently. She peeks one eye open and pulls the sheet up to cover herself, turning onto her back to look at him. 

“What?” she murmurs. 

“Are you seeing anyone else?” He realizes how it sounds as soon as it’s out of his mouth, like he’s about to make a declaration, some sort of ridiculous claim to her, a lot of promises made to one another that they won’t keep. But this is none of that. He’s done that before. 

She’s incapable of hiding her feelings. Sometimes he wonders how she ever became a reporter with a face like that, empathetic and judgemental all at once. But he has read her words, knows it is precisely those undisguised emotions which make her writing raw and passionate. “No,” she finally admits, quietly. “Not really.” He doesn’t say anything, trying to formulate a response, but she continues, filling in the silence. “I mean, a little. But you probably know how hard it is to date someone who isn’t--no one else really understands _this_. What we do.” 

“I think...maybe we should.” 

A long beat of silence lays between them. 

Her face, so light and carefree a moment before, hardens and darkens. “Fuck you,” she spits at him, throwing back the covers and moving out of the bed to pick up her clothes on the floor. Jaime is unsure where she’s going, as this is her room. She sighs, pausing in front of the window. The lines of her body, highlighted by distant city lights and the moon, embarrassingly makes his cock stir. 

His lips are moving, but it takes his brain too long to catch up with what he’s saying. “....someone your own age.”

She flings his pants at his face. “If you want to fuck someone else, you could have just told me.” Brienne pulls her jeans over her hips, grabs her key, and slams the door behind her.

_*_

_Braavos - Year Six_

When he wakes, he has an email from her. 

_Something happened here this morning. There were explosions near the border. The locals I'm with suspect rebel involvement._

_More when I know more. I love you. -B_

*

It's a few days before Brienne can extract herself from the area. He is sitting out on the balcony when he hears the cab pull up below.

Jaime races back inside, waiting for the sound of her key in the lock. She steps through the door, dropping her bag in the hallway, a smile stretching across her face when she sees him. Brienne fits her body into his, allowing herself to be wrapped tightly in his arms. He lifts her slightly off the ground, her squeaking in protest against his neck. Setting her down again, he threads a hand through her hair, kissing her soundly. 

“I'm glad you're safe,” he murmurs against her. When she’s gone, he sometimes worries there will never be a next kiss. 

She nods, slipping her hand into his. He asks if she wants coffee, padding into the kitchen to turn the machine on, and then pulls her back into him, his hand on her hip, thumb stroking against the cotton of her shirt. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

Sometimes it's a release, telling someone about the harrowing experiences encountered in war zones, and better than anyone they understand the heft of each other's stories. But sometimes, after spending days or weeks covering an incident, your brain would rather push the events away. “Later,” she murmurs, shaking her head. She tips her chin up and he cups her cheek in his palm, kissing her softly. There's a ghost of a sigh against his mouth and she kisses him back, her arms around his shoulders. He nudges her back against the cabinets, his knee pressed in between her legs. She exhales, her breath hot on his cheek. Wordlessly, she leads him into the bedroom. 

As she slips her tank top off, he fingers a dark purple bruise just under her collarbone. “Brienne…” His brow wrinkles. He knows her scars and calluses, all the things she tries to hide, but watching her uncover new wounds, fresh from the time apart from him, he wants to hold her closer than anyone else ever has.

“It's fine,” she breathes. Her eyes fall closed as his thumb sweeps across the bruise softly, fingertips tracing the faint outline where purple blends into rose. He kisses her neck, her shoulder, and finally, achingly slowly, places soft lips over the bruise. She sucks in a breath over her teeth and he pauses, afraid he’s hurt her, but she only runs her fingers through his hair. “I love you.”

When she's lying next to him later, the length of his body pressed against hers, neither of them saying much, she exhales, and he knows she's not thinking about the safety of his arms, but what she experienced. He wants to be able to staunch those feelings, those memories, because he has them, too. If only it was as easy to kiss away her emotional scars. 

*

_Slaver’s Bay - Year Five_

He dreams he is underwater again. Close enough to the surface to see sunlight filtering through, but when he swims towards it, a weight drags him deeper. Trying not to panic, he looks around. 

Floating below him is a shock of jet black hair. _Elia_. 

She looks the same. Beautiful and delicate. She mouths something to him, creating bubbles in the water which escape to the surface. He shakes his head in confusion. She says it again. _Stay with me._

Jaime reaches out, cupping her cheek. _I’ll always love you_ , he tells her. _But there is someone waiting for me._

Her eyes are sad for a moment, but then she nods, understanding. She pulls him into a hug before letting go. 

He breaks the surface with a gasp, body shuddering as a wave of pain travels up his right arm. 

There is a cool touch on his left hand and someone smooths back his hair. “I’m here,” she whispers. “I’m here, Jaime. I’m right here.” Another wave of pain seizes his body and her voice again, calm as ever. “I’ve got you. I just pressed the button for your pain meds, so you might fall asleep again.” 

“I love you,” he whispers. His right hand is heavy, he can’t seem to lift it. He panics a little, afraid he’s underwater again, but her lips are brushing against his forehead and he lifts his left hand, curling it in her hair. “I love you,” he says again, pressing his lips to her cheek. 

Jaime traces her entire face with his left hand, clumsy and slow. Brienne’s eyes fill with tears, her chin trembles as he touches her. “I love _you_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for all of your support on this one so far! For now, I'm planning to stick with eight chapters, so the fic will be "complete", but in the semi-near future, I may return to it and add a couple more chapters
> 
> A little Easter Egg: the year five scene here connects to the year five Jaime scene in the second chapter. When he is going in and out and "under" in chapter two, the memory of Elia is what is happening.


	7. Brienne IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s not the first time one of their friends has implied--or sometimes outright asked--that they should be thinking about getting married and having kids. Brienne hates being shoved into that box, but today, a pit settles deep in her stomach, keenly aware that she is the reason Jaime hasn’t been able to do either of those things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to forbiddenfantasies for the assist on this part!

_King’s Landing - Year Three_

Dacey won’t tell her anything about Elia. “You should talk to Jaime.” 

Brienne doesn’t stay for the rest of the award ceremony, imagining the bittersweet ache at seeing him up on the stage if he wins. 

She can’t sleep. Keeps thinking about Dacey’s face and her firm insistence that Brienne talk to him. 

Opening her laptop and then an internet browser, she types, “Jaime Lannister relationship”. Brienne has never thought to research him beyond his photography, because for a long time, that’s all he was to her, someone she had--perhaps foolishly--admired. 

Although aware of his reputation as a media heartthrob, she had mistaken the level of interest in his personal life. There’s a whole blog dedicated to his media and public appearances, including photos of him at various events with a variety of women, many of whom look like supermodels. None of the photos are newer than a couple years ago, but Brienne stares at them for a long time, unable to equate the man in them with the one she knows (or thought she knew.) 

She tries again, typing, “Jaime Lannister Elia”. A dozen articles pop up about the death of Elia Martell, a humanitarian worker who was killed in a bombing in The Disputed Lands’ international zone. The zone is a heavily fortified area used by Myr and Lys’ governments to meet and negotiate. 

Brienne doesn’t need to know anything more and closes her laptop, squeezing her eyes shut. 

*

_The Orange Shore Hotel_

Coming in from a day out in the field, her hair tangled by the wind and gritty with sand, and dirt under her fingernails, all she wants to do is take a long, hot shower. 

She sees him across the lobby. His phone is pressed to his ear and a worn paperback in his lap, his finger marking his place. It’s unfair how effortless he looks wearing a plain white t-shirt, a shadow of stubble along his jaw. She misses the scent of him when she presses her nose into his neck, the way her sheets smell after he’s gone back to his room. 

Brienne knows very well the scars and bruises that a sudden death can leave behind. The breath it can suck from your lungs for years afterwards, grief unfolding in new ways. But then there are days which are sun and sky and healing. 

*

As she is stepping out of the shower, she hears someone knocking on the door. “Just a minute,” she calls, certain whoever it is can’t hear her. She has just started to wring the water from her hair and dry off when there’s another knock on the door. So much for a long, relaxing hot shower. 

She wraps the towel around her body, holding it closed near her armpit, and strides across the room, her hair still dripping. When she opens the door, Jaime is standing on the other side, raising a hand to knock again. He looks startled when he sees her. Brienne’s cheeks flush, wishing she could melt into the carpet, which is absolutely ridiculous because this man has seen her naked. “What?” 

He shoves his hands in his pockets and is careful to keep his gaze locked on her face, but there’s a brief moment where he glances down, eyes trailing up her legs. “They’re evacuating the hotel.” 

“ _What?_ ” She glances around Jaime into the hallway and notices other journalists packing up and heading out. 

“It’s happened before, but not for awhile. Dacey and I are going to Volantis to hole up until this blows over. Are you coming?” Brienne doesn’t have time to think it over, so she just nods. “Good,” he says, sounding relieved. “Meet us downstairs in ten minutes?”

The atmosphere of everyone clearing out has put her on edge, so she replies, “Make it five.” 

*

_King’s Landing - Year Eight_

After a meeting with her editor, Brienne walks into the restaurant where she’s meeting Dacey to find Jaime holding a baby. 

“Hi!” she says as she approaches their table, raising her eyebrows in an exaggerated fashion to get Ava’s attention. She looks up at Brienne with her big brown eyes and coos. 

Dacey gets up to give her a long hug. “Gods, you look amazing.”

“Me?” Brienne protests. “ _You_ do. You’re all glowy.” Sliding into her seat, she notices Dacey exchange a look with Jaime. “What?” 

“I’m pregnant.” 

She sinks back into her chair in shock. “What? Oh my _gods_.” Brienne glances over at Jaime. “Did you know about this?” 

“No, I just found out,” he replies, beaming. After unofficially retiring from the world of conflict reporting, Dacey put herself on an adoption list. She would be a single parent but had always wanted children. During the years-long wait, she met Mark, and then baby Ava came into their lives. 

“I’m so happy for you,” Brienne says sincerely after Dacey fills them both in. Jaime is content to keep Ava throughout their meal, though he hardly eats a bite, as he’s busy feeding her. His attention focused on the baby, Dacey raises her eyebrows at Brienne. It’s not the first time one of their friends has implied--or sometimes outright asked--that they should be thinking about getting married and having kids. Brienne hates being shoved into that box, but today, a pit settles deep in her stomach, keenly aware that _she_ is the reason Jaime hasn’t been able to do either of those things. 

When they get back to her apartment, she’s hardly surprised when Jaime presses her up against the wall in the entryway, unbuttoning her dress pants and slipping his hand down to where she is already wet and aching for him. 

But later, when she sits astride him on the couch, his eyes hungrily taking her in, she is more than a little surprised when the words which tumble out of his lips are, “Let’s have a baby.” 

She stills her movements, simply staring at him. “What?” she asks, a nervous laugh slipping out. 

Jaime’s eyes darken, his brow furrows. “You don’t want to?” 

“Jaime.” She exhales, stroking her hand through his hair. “I love you, but I can’t have a baby right now.” Brienne doesn’t point out to him that it technically can’t happen. She’s had an IUD for years and if they are going to be family planning anytime soon, she would need to get it removed. 

He looks a little deflated, but nods, understanding. “You’re right, I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay,” she says, but the pit has returned to her stomach, wondering if she’s preventing him from having something he really wants. “Actually,” Brienne takes a breath. “I don’t _know_ if it’s okay for you. If that’s something you really want…” She releases all her words in a rush. “My editor wants me to go to Qarth.” 

Now it’s Jaime who looks shocked. “For how long?” 

She’s been dreading this conversation since she walked out of her editor’s office. Except now it’s worse, because Jaime’s talking about having a baby and she’s thinking about moving thousands of miles away. Brienne moves off of his lap, tossing Jaime his boxers.

“Brienne. For how long?” She picks up his t-shirt from the floor and slips it on, then sits down next to him.

“For a year.” 

“A year,” Jaime says slowly. 

Brienne nods, trying to search his face, but his gaze is focused down. He scrubs a hand across his jaw, and when he finally looks up at her, his eyes are a little distant, almost resigned. “And you’re considering it?” 

She reaches for his hand and he allows her to lace her fingers through his. “I am, but I wanted to talk about it with you. I know we had other plans.” They’re sitting together in Brienne’s mostly empty King’s Landing flat because she’s finally selling it and officially moving in with him.

“If it’s something you’re interested in, the Qarth thing, then you should do it.” 

“We don’t have to decide anything right now, but you could come with me.” His face brightens at her suggestion. 

They’ve never made each other any promises, not formal ones, and she is unendingly grateful for his support, but sometimes, she wonders if Jaime hides his desires so she can live hers out. 

“I love you,” she finally says. “But I don’t want to be the reason you don’t get to have all the things you want.” 

“Brienne.” The tender but low way he says her name simultaneously makes her want to melt and throw him down on the floor. Jaime tugs on her hand, trying to pull her into his lap. “Come here.” She moves closer, their hips pressed together, and she hooks a leg over his knee. He gently tucks a piece of hair behind her ear, his warm fingers landing on her collarbone. “I only want those things with you. Not anyone else.” 

Her chin trembles. “I just feel like…” she bites her lip, but the tears come anyway. Brienne continues, trying to explain while hiccuping for breath, “I’m making you wait and that’s not fair to you.”

“You’re not making me wait.” When he pulls away, the amber and gold flecks in his eyes shimmer in the slats of light let in by the apartment’s windows. “I _do_ want to marry you someday and have a family and all those boring, domestic things, but you have to want them too. I’m not going to push you into something you’re not ready for.”

 _But what if I’m never ready?_ The voice inside of her wonders. Brienne traces his beard with her fingertips. “The kid thing...if you want that, waiting might not be an option.”

“Are you calling me old?” 

“No!” she objects, but a slight smile tugs at his face and she hits his chest. “You ass.” His grin grows wider and she takes a moment to study him. Age has only made him more handsome. His hair going gray makes him look distinguished and wise. The salt and pepper of his beard makes his green eyes stand out even more, and the laugh lines and wrinkles lend a softness to his whole face.

“We’ll figure it out. For now,” his voice scrapes along her skin, making her shiver. Jaime pulls her into his lap. “I’m not fifty yet, and I can’t remember receiving any complaints.” He raises his eyebrows and she laughs, sucking in a breath as he presses against her thigh, his hands threading through her hair and tugging her down for a heady kiss. 

Later, when they are both wrapped in cool sheets, limbs tangled together, she murmurs, “No complaints.” 

*

_Braavos - Year Six_

When she arrives at the apartment, she’s relieved that Jaime is out. Brienne throws her bag at the end of the bed and strips off her clothes as she walks into the bathroom and pushes the door shut with her foot. She lets the bath water run, turning towards the mirror to remove the tape and gauze which cover the fresh scar on her cheek. The stitches are black and ugly against her pale skin and there are so many of them, covering an overwhelming amount of the right side of her face. The scar will be crude, but everyday she meets and talks to others who have their homes ravaged and their lives torn apart by war. She can bear a solitary scar. 

When the tub is almost full, she lowers herself into it slowly, adjusting to the water temperature. Jaime jokes that she prefers it scalding and it’s nearly true. Brienne likes a bath to be hot so she can sit in it for longer. She sinks down into the tub, the warmth of the water wrapping around her back and shoulders like a reassuring hug. Brienne lets out a long exhale, then another, a little surprised when tears spring up in the corners of her eyes.

She hears Jaime enter the apartment, his footsteps coming into the bedroom, seeing her bag there. “Brienne?” 

“I’m in here,” she answers and a moment later, he’s there, pushing open the door. Jaime tries not to react when he sees her cheek, but there is a tightness to his features. His jaw clenches. 

His recovery from his injury was difficult for him, for them both, and she doesn’t know how he will react to her getting hurt. She knows he worries for her, more than he will ever admit.

Jaime kneels down next to the tub, his hand brushing her hair back from her cheek, letting out a sad sigh. “Oh, babe. I’m so sorry.” 

He's never called her that and if anyone else ever did, they would have received a serious look and a polite, but firm request never to say it again. But coming from him, it's okay, somehow. She reaches for him and he takes her hand in his, bringing it up to his mouth, kissing her knuckles. 

“Are you okay?” 

It’s such a simple question, but it unleashes something buried deep under all the adrenaline, all the safety training. In that moment, when she saw the glint of the knife, she was scared. As surrounded as she was by others, her translator, the photographer, she’d been alone. Truly alone. Brienne only allows herself to feel it now, the fear bubbling up inside of her and bursting out in a choked sob. She pulls Jaime closer, her wet arms wrapping around him, soaking the shoulders of his shirt. 

“Shhh,” he soothes, his hand rubbing her back. “You’re okay. You’re safe.” The cries which wrack her body surprise her, but she can no longer keep everything contained. Jaime continues to soothe her, saying it’s okay, she can take as long as she needs, but his gentleness only makes her cry harder. “Let’s get you into bed.” 

By the time he returns with a towel for her, she’s shivering. Jaime helps her step out of the bathtub and wraps the fabric around her, rubbing his hands up and down in long strokes in an effort to warm her. He dresses her in clean, comfortable clothes, and settles her on the edge of the bed to tend to her cheek. Jaime dabs ointment over her stitches, covering the scar with gauze, all of it done with tenderness, and belatedly, she realizes, his left hand. 

“Do you want to sleep?” Her eyes are dry and throat scratchy from crying and there is a heaviness to her limbs she hadn’t noticed before. Jaime draws back the covers and tucks her into bed. The cool sheets feel good against the bare skin of her legs. 

“Will you stay with me for a little while?” 

He crawls in beside her, tucking his body alongside hers, and whispers into her shoulder, “I’ll stay with you as long as you like.” 

For years, she’s marveled at his ease and self-assurance in the field, and now she has come to find he loves in the exact same way. There is no hesitancy or doubt on his part. Only constancy. 


	8. Jaime IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Having her beside him reminds Jaime of those late nights they spent on the base’s dining hall, working across from each other. It was simply the first step in building a slow trust. He didn’t know what they would become to each other then, and he doesn’t know where they will end up now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for reading! As a I mentioned a couple chapters ago, I'm wrapping this up, but it feels like an universe I can return to at some point, so this may not be the last you see of them.

i want to make love, but my hair smells of war and running and running. 

-Warsan Shire, “War Poem”

_Port Moraq - Year Eight_

Brienne swings open the door of the hotel room, already dressed in her swimsuit. “Seven hells, Tarth,” he growls, pressing her up against the wall to kiss her. “Are you trying to kill me?” 

She grins against him. “I missed you, too.” 

It’s the first time he’s seen her in two months. She’s wearing a bright blue long-lined bikini top which highlights _everything_ : the strength in her shoulders, her pale skin and freckles, the swell of her breasts. Jaime can’t stop touching all of her exposed skin, first with fingertips and hands, followed by mouth and tongue. Her long legs are covered by a matching sarong which is knotted around her waist. Brienne lets out a surprised shriek when Jaime lifts her off the ground, but her legs wrap instinctively around his waist as he carries her to the bed and tosses her, a little roughly, to the mattress. 

“Fuck,” she breathes, nearly tearing the shirt off his shoulders as Jaime unties the sarong, exposing her legs. His mouth falls to her thighs and she hums pleasantly underneath his touch. 

Jaime hooks his thumb through the fabric of the swimsuit bottom and pulls it down her legs. “I missed you,” he murmurs, as he nudges her legs open wider with his knee. “Did you miss me?” he asks, punctuating the question by slipping his hand in between her thighs. Brienne groans and writhes against him, her blue eyes smoldering with heat as he continues to stroke her. 

“Jaime,” she pleads, her breath hitching in her throat. “Please.”

“Please what?” He tugs down her top to expose her flushed nipples and uses his mouth to mark a path from her neck to her breast. 

Brienne arches into him, gasping. Her hips roll and his fingers move faster. “Jaime.” His name ripples out of her throat in a low, guttural groan, her hands tangling in his hair. “I want you. _Now_.” He loves driving her past the point of reason. Her work requires her to keep a tight rein on her emotions, so to see those walls easily come down with him is both an honor and a turn on. 

Afterwards, when they are curled in each other’s arms, Jaime huffs out a soft laugh, “Maybe I should stay away for two months more often.” 

“Don’t you dare,” she replies, rolling over to face him and pulling his arm tighter around her. 

*

Before she even left Braavos for Qarth, they picked Port Moraq as a vacation spot because of its proximity to the Cinnamon Straits. As they lay by the pool on long chaise lounges, they debate the merits of exploring the rainforest north of the city or taking a boat to one of the other islands for a day. 

“I’m just glad you’re here, so I am happy doing either,” she says, smiling at him. “Do you want a drink?” As Brienne waves over one of the hotel staff, a sparkle of light catches his eye. Her hand is hidden underneath the menu as she asks the waiter a question about something, then looks over at him expectantly. 

“I’ll have the same.” He replies, distracted, wanting the waiter to leave so he can be sure of what he saw. Brienne relaxes back in the chair, stretching her long legs out in front of her, the piece of jewelry shimmering in the bright sunlight. “You’re wearing it,” he whispers, but she hears him, turning towards him with a smile. 

“Of course.” The silver band on her finger is wrapped in sapphires and diamonds. They’d gone to pick it out together before she left. “I wear it everyday.” 

He knows Brienne loves him. They loved each other for a long time before either of them ever said it aloud. Jaime has never been one to need a display of their commitment to one another, but her choosing to wear the ring provides a confirmation from her that he did not even know he was seeking. His chest constricts and when he is finally able to draw breath, his whole body tremors with the effort of not bursting into tears poolside at this fancy hotel.

“Hey,” she says gently, and if there is any time the timbre of her voice could break him into a million pieces, it would be this moment. Brienne asks the person next to them to watch their stuff and then pulls him away from the pool deck, the scent of coconut and chlorine growing distant as she navigates them into a quiet corner of the hotel. 

She pulls him close, arms tightening around his shoulders, the gauzy fabric of her sarong brushing against his legs. Jaime presses a hand to her lower back and relaxes against her, letting out a breath he’s been holding for years. “I love you so much,” he murmurs, the words thick in his throat. 

*

_Volantis - Year Three_

They meet in the lobby of the hotel, Brienne’s damp hair pulled into a low bun. As they walk out to the Jeep, he notices a lock of hair which has already fallen free, and which blows in the dry desert winds. The three of them throw their bags and equipment into the back of the vehicle. Sandor drives, Dacey in the front seat, and Brienne in the back seat next to him. She asks them a few questions about the evacuation. “There’s been violence creeping closer to the coast lately,” Dacey says. “They’re being cautious.” 

“When was the last time the hotel evacuated?” 

He speaks up then. “There was a bombing inside the international zone.”

The vehicle falls silent, except for the sounds of the rocky road under the Jeep’s tires. “Oh.” He stares out the window for a long time. The sun is setting and its light stretches out across the horizon, coloring the sands orange, red, ocher. 

Jaime knows he owes her an explanation. When they were back in the field, Dacey told him she had run into Brienne at the Westerosi Press Prize ceremony. 

_I can handle my own shit._

_There is no one I trust more to have my back in the field and I love you to death, but you can’t let this eat you up from the inside. Brienne doesn’t deserve that and neither do you._

He takes the coward’s way out, in the end. When they are settled in their rooms, he sends her an email, afraid if he asked her in person, she wouldn’t let him get a word out. Breakfast, which can mean as little as a cup of coffee, if she doesn’t want to listen to what he has to say, or as much as the spicy Volantenes egg dish he loves so much and the beginnings of an understanding from her. 

*

Jaime bounces his foot under the table, enough nervous energy before coffee, and skims the headlines in the newspaper. A movement in the corner of his eye catches his attention and he looks up to see Brienne standing by the chair next to him. _You came_ , he almost says, but catches himself, instead gesturing for her to sit and waving the waiter over so she can order coffee or tea. 

His foot stills. Her presence has a calming effect on him, allowing him to focus on her, noting the tightness between her brows, as if she’s still confused about why she’s come. Having her beside him reminds Jaime of those late nights they spent on the base’s dining hall, working across from each other. It was simply the first step in building a slow trust. He didn’t know what they would become to each other then, and he doesn’t know where they will end up now. 

“My fiancée was in the international zone when the bombing happened.” Brienne lays a gentle hand over his wrist, letting him tell the story at his own pace.

*

Years later, he learns to make the Volantenes egg dish for her because she loves it as much as he does. 

*

_Braavos - Year Five_

He knows Brienne can’t stay forever, but it’s been so nice having her here. Waking up next to each other every morning is a luxury they’ve never had before. They have coffee on the balcony, her filling him on the news as he takes in the familiar view of the city, and sometimes not having breakfast until it creeps close to noon. 

His recovery has been slow and only within the last month has he crawled out of the black fog of depression. He would have never asked her to take time off from the paper to care for him, but she did it willingly, and he is unendingly grateful for it. 

This week, she’s slowly been making preparations to leave. Doing laundry, collecting some of her items from the bathroom. He finds her folding clothes in the bedroom and it makes his chest twinge. “Tired of me already?” 

She smiles at him, but there’s something which pulls at the edge of her mouth, telling him she’s a bit unsettled by the remark. “No,” she says gently. “But I told my editor three months.” 

“Sorry,” he apologizes. “I wasn’t trying to guilt you. I just...I’m going to miss you.” 

Brienne stops folding a stack of t-shirts and walks around to the side of the bed where he’s perched, watching her. “Hey,” she says gently, her hand sliding to the back of his neck, her soft touch making him look up at her. “I’ll miss you too.” 

In their line of work, there was always the vague knowledge of running into a colleague or a friend, and after parting, realizing it might be the last time you ever saw them. It was a danger of the job, one that was often best left unexamined in an effort to keep panic at bay, but Brienne going back out on assignment feels different from all the times before. The risk is real and staring him in the face. “Is it just you?” 

“No, the photographer is meeting me.” 

“You should ask for Sandor, if he’s available. He’s the best translator.” 

“He is,” she agrees. Her fingertips trace softly through his hair, making him shiver. “He drove Cat and I to the hospital.” 

“Oh.” Brienne tugs gently at the sleeve of his shirt and he stands up, pulling her hips into his and wrapping his arms around her. He holds her close, as if somehow this moment can make up for all the nights he won’t get to hold her while she’s gone. 

“Jaime.” He loves the way his name sounds in her mouth. It runs along his skin, rich and as soft as silk, winding its way through layers of muscle, sinew, and bone, finally tucking itself into the place that is reserved only for the sound of it. 

“You should come back here when you’re done.” 

She pulls back a little from him, searching his face. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes,” he chuckles. “I want this to be your home, too.” 

*

_Port Maroq - Year 8_

Their plan was to get up early and head out to the rainforest, but every time Brienne tries to sneak out of bed, Jame doesn’t let her, unable to quench his desire. It’s hours before she makes it to the shower, but even then he joins her. She rinses the suds from her hair and Jaime watches as the water sluices over her body. “What has gotten into you?” she laughs. He doesn’t answer, simply drops to his knees, her eyes darkening. 

*

When they finally travel north to the rainforest, they follow a trail the local guides recommend. Trees and fauna are so thick on either side that they form a canopy of greenery above their heads and the air is humid and thick, wrapping around Jaime like a wet blanket. By the time they reach a clearing in the trees, they are both sweaty, but it’s worth it for the view. Spread out before them is a view of the tops of the trees and another mountain swathed in green. Beyond the mountain, the city of Port Maroq meets the sea, which stretches out to the horizon, the sun glistening across the water. Brienne reaches for his hand and he rubs his thumb over hers, a small hum of appreciation at the back of her throat. 

Even though Brienne asked him to come to Qarth with her, he had decided against it, and from the moment she left, he’s regretted it. Recently, he’s worried they’ve had more moments where they keep missing each other. One of them wanting one thing while the other is still somewhere else. He knows she isn’t ready to walk away from her work, but her wanting him in Qarth felt like an attempt to meet him halfway, and he turned it down. Maybe he wasn’t ready then, but he is ready now. He wants to meet her wherever she chooses to go, because wherever she is feels like home. 

“Jaime,” she murmurs quietly, as if reading his thoughts. “I told my editor I would only stay six months.” 

He hears her, but cannot really absorb it. “What?”

“I couldn’t do a year. Not apart from you.” His fingertip dances over the ring she wears and looks up into her blue eyes, which are shimmering with tears. He nods and there’s a peace which settles deep within his chest as he kisses her. It’s more than a ‘maybe someday’. It is a promise. A vow they have made to each other in desert sands, hotel rooms, through scars and across oceans. “I want to come home.” 

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [This is similar to Brienne’s ring.](https://www.brilliantearth.com/Sienna-Sapphire-and-Diamond-Ring-\(1/5-ct.-tw.\)-Platinum-BE2M350S/) I think she would want something simple and less flashy so she could wear it in the field.


End file.
